The Sickly Beauty Gives Up Struggling [Rebirth] Chapter 149

Li Rong repeated his and Cen Xiao’s plan to Lin Zhen and Jian Fu, while Jiang Xunwei, present as well, listened once again.

Jiang Xunwei remained silent throughout, his brow furrowed and eyes downcast. He neither participated in the discussion nor voiced any opinions.

In the end, though, he agreed with Li Rong’s plan—because they had no other choice.

Lin Zhen couldn’t linger outside for too long. After listening to the plan, he quickly masked up and left discreetly.

Jian Fu had wanted to say something to him, but Lin Zhen moved so quickly that Jian Fu’s outstretched hand failed to catch his arm. He stood frozen at the doorway, scratching his head. “What’s on his mind?” he muttered.

Back in his room, Lin Zhen, weighed down by his thoughts, barely had time to remove his mask before a staff member knocked on his door.

When he opened it, the staff paused. “You’re back? Where were you just now? The director called for a meeting, and you were the only one missing.”

“I stepped out for some fresh air,” Lin Zhen replied vaguely.

The staffer seemed ready to grumble but, looking at Lin Zhen’s face, swallowed his complaints.

After all, the contestants still in the program were poised to become big stars in the future. It wouldn’t do to offend them.

Lin Zhen followed the staff to the meeting room.

Tomorrow, Thursday, was rehearsal day.

Even for a charity reality show, rehearsals were a must. Everything presented to the audience bore traces of careful manipulation behind the scenes.

After the meeting, Lin Zhen approached the on-site director. “Where’s Sister Pan?”

The director glanced at him, aware that Yan Pan had spoken to Lin Zhen earlier. He could guess the gist of their conversation.

Considering Lin Zhen would soon likely sign with Wajing Entertainment, the director smiled knowingly. “Oh, Sister Pan is dining with the local liaison here in Linshi.”

Lin Zhen lowered his gaze slightly. “I wanted to speak with her. Do you think it’s appropriate to call her now?”

The director checked the time. “She probably hasn’t started eating yet. Give it a try.”

Thanking him, Lin Zhen dialed Yan Pan’s number.

The phone rang six times before Yan Pan answered—not because she couldn’t hear it but because she had her own principles.

If the call came from a superior, she would answer immediately on her work phone, available 24/7. For those of lesser status, she let the phone ring longer to subtly emphasize her importance.

The duration of the wait was also calculated, reflecting the caller’s significance.

Seeing Lin Zhen’s name, Yan Pan, despite her personal dislike for him, answered out of professionalism.

“Hello? I’m busy. What’s up?”

Lin Zhen’s tone was polite and deferential. “Sister Pan, I’ve thought carefully about what you told me. I was so excited earlier and shared it with my parents—they’re very happy. Um… would it be possible for me to meet Wajing’s head, President Song, in person?”

Yan Pan’s voice sharpened immediately. “You want to meet President Song?”

As Wajing’s chairman, Song Yanyi wasn’t someone who made time for new talents. Signing contracts was usually handled by managers and HR personnel.

Lin Zhen diplomatically explained, “Sister Pan, I know Wajing has many top artists who are all doing really well. I just feel… as a newcomer with no experience in the industry, I should take the opportunity to meet prominent figures and learn from them.”

Yan Pan understood his concerns.

Lin Zhen feared being sidelined after signing with Wajing, overshadowed by their established stars. He worried that Song Yanyi wouldn’t even know his name, leaving him little chance to shine.

There was no need for such concern—entertainment was a brutally practical industry. As long as Lin Zhen retained his fanbase, there was no way Song Yanyi wouldn’t know who he was.

Still, Yan Pan understood the insecurities of a fledgling artist, yearning for reassurance from someone influential.

She mused that Lin Zhen hesitating after their talk likely meant he doubted her influence within Wajing. A word from Song Yanyi, however, might swiftly seal the deal.

Unbeknownst to Lin Zhen, Yan Pan was already deeply tied to Wajing, serving their interests by recruiting him ahead of time.

“I’ll ask for you,” Yan Pan said at last.

After hanging up, Lin Zhen’s polite smile faded. Clenching his phone tightly, he made up his mind.

By Friday, when the program’s official recording began, Hongning Mountain—usually remote and tranquil—was surrounded by a sea of fans. The children, unused to such a spectacle, were visibly intimidated.

It wasn’t until Sui Wanjun personally came out to console them that their nerves settled.

Sui Wanjun had finally appeared.

Her silver hair glimmered, and her hunched back betrayed years of toil.

She wasn’t a beauty—not even before time and hardship had left their marks.

Sui Wanjun was thin, her exposed hands darkened by the sun, layered with wrinkles. Her nails were thick and hard, yet scrupulously clean—just like her face, washed with care, and her hair, combed neatly into place.

Though her appearance lacked conventional attractiveness, she exuded an aura of warmth and compassion. This innate kindness resonated not only with the children, who knew little of the world, but also with the fans watching nearby.

Although it’s often said not to judge a person solely by their appearance, the saying “a person’s face reflects their heart” has some truth to it.

Li Rong and Cen Xiao stood tightly squeezed among a crowd of excited fans, shoulder to shoulder.

Li Rong adjusted the brim of his hat and nudged Cen Xiao, motioning with his eyes: “Look at Sui Wanjun’s leg.”

Sui Wanjun was walking with a slight limp. Though she tried her best to appear radiant and energetic on camera, she frequently needed to sit down and rest after standing for a while, rubbing her knee with her rough hands.

Cen Xiao leaned close to Li Rong’s ear so he could be heard, his lips nearly brushing Li Rong’s earlobe: “Probably arthritis or osteoporosis. Her body’s not holding up well.”

Li Rong chuckled softly. “Back then, she’d rather divorce her husband and part ways with her child than stop supporting the orphanage. Someone like that wouldn’t hand it over to Vice Principal Hong Ru unless her body truly couldn’t handle it anymore.”

Cen Xiao nodded. “Still, she’s able to appear on camera, so it’s not too bad. Hopefully, she can hold on.”

They both silently wished that this stubborn, kind-hearted director, who had devoted her life to doing good, could endure the harsh truths that were about to come to light.

Reality is always ruthless. Whether a person can bear it or not, it remains unwaveringly there.

Li Rong’s eyelids trembled slightly, as if he wanted to ease the heavy mood. Before he could speak, they overheard some fans chatting beside them.

“Why is our baby Zhen so excited today?”

“I’m dying of laughter. He’s like he’s on a sugar rush. Does he like kids or something? He’s usually so quiet and well-behaved in the behind-the-scenes footage.”

“Wow, liking kids is so cute! He’s still a kid himself—kids like playing with other kids.”

“B Program is so lucky. Our Zhen has such great variety show energy. There’s so much material to work with this time!”

“Totally. I can already imagine how they’ll edit it. Ahhh, I’m so jealous of that little girl! Baby Zhen was playing hide-and-seek with her!”

“Exactly! He’s finally learned to grab some screen time. Ugh, it’s ridiculous how little screentime he had as the most popular contestant. Not even any ad placements or sponsorships!”

“It’s because Baby Zhen doesn’t have a company backing him. He can only rely on himself, but fans have sharp eyes. You can’t outshine a true grassroots star.”

“Still, I wish he had a company to support him. Doing everything on his own is too hard—my heart aches for him.”

…

Li Rong frowned, puzzled. “Why’s Lin Zhen so lively today?”

It wasn’t quite right to call it excitement—more like he was being exceptionally expressive, and his performance was outstanding. He naturally became the centerpiece in several key moments, creating both laugh-out-loud and heartwarming scenes.

While Li Rong had never doubted Lin Zhen’s ability to learn, this sudden change in style was still a bit surprising.

Could it be that Lin Zhen had started enjoying outdoor activities?

But he didn’t like them in high school either. Was this Jian Fu’s influence?

Lin Zhen maintained this high-energy state throughout the recording. By the end, the fans holding cameras and recording gear were visibly drained, while Li Rong had already retreated to the car to recline the seat and nap. Yet Lin Zhen was still full of enthusiasm.

His upbeat demeanor delighted the production team as well. A high-profile contestant performing well meant less effort in post-production, as they wouldn’t need to rack their brains to create moments.

Cen Xiao’s stamina far exceeded that of his peers, but even he felt fatigued after two days of recording. The fans, however, persevered, eager to document every moment their idol appeared on screen.

When Cen Xiao returned to the car, he found Li Rong curled up, legs drawn in and head resting on his arm, sleeping soundly.

The heater was on in the car, and Li Rong’s breathing was steady. His long eyelashes rested gently against his cheeks, making his already pale skin appear even fairer.

In recent days, Li Rong had been under immense stress. Though he didn’t say much, Cen Xiao could tell he hadn’t been resting well.

Cen Xiao had originally planned to sit in the car and take a break, but seeing Li Rong asleep, he didn’t want to disturb him. Opening the door would let in a cold draft that might wake Li Rong and leave him with a cold.

Although Li Rong’s health wasn’t as fragile as it had been in high school, Cen Xiao couldn’t help but be overly cautious. Having experienced what he had, it was impossible not to carry some lingering PTSD.

So Cen Xiao found a spot by the roadside, brushed off a large stone, and sat down.

Lin Zhen, meanwhile, received a message from Yan Pan during the final day of recording, informing him that after returning to A City, President Song was willing to meet with him for a discussion.

Lin Zhen didn’t share this news with Li Rong.

He debated telling Jian Fu but ultimately decided against it. Jian Fu wasn’t great at keeping secrets, and their sharp-eyed class monitor would immediately pick up on anything out of the ordinary.

So Lin Zhen held it in and kept quiet.

Jian Fu, now equipped with Lin Zhen’s approval and a friend badge of sorts, shamelessly secured a work pass and mingled at the orphanage. He even sat brazenly on the kids’ little stools to rest.

Of course, he didn’t just hang around without helping. Without a personal assistant or agent, Lin Zhen was often left to fend for himself during outdoor shoots. The crew was busy with their own tasks, and it wasn’t uncommon for him to go without water or snacks.

Jian Fu took on the role of temporary assistant, rushing in during breaks to hand Lin Zhen a bottle of water, a piece of chocolate, or a towel to wipe the sweat off his neck.

Though makeup artists were efficient at their jobs, Jian Fu always found an excuse to redo the wiping, using it as an opportunity to erase the lingering perfume left by the makeup artist.

The rest of the crew found this “assistant” unprofessional. His attention seemed solely focused on Lin Zhen, ignoring everything else, much to the annoyance of assistants from bigger companies.

But Jian Fu didn’t care.

After tiring of sitting on the little stool, Jian Fu decided to take a breather and look for Li Rong and Cen Xiao.

Dodging fans, he eventually found Cen Xiao sitting on a large stone in a makeshift parking lot about 100 meters from the orphanage.

Jian Fu was puzzled and jogged over. “Bro, why are you sitting here?”

Cen Xiao, having just finished giving Yu Fuyan instructions regarding District Nine, looked up at Jian Fu. “Is Lin Zhen done over there?”

Jian Fu stretched, his back aching from the tiny stool. “Yeah, they’re almost done recording. They’re wrapping up with a debrief now. I came out for some air. But why are you sitting on a rock? It’s dirty. Isn’t the car right there?”

Cen Xiao replied flatly, “Li Rong is sleeping.”

“He’s sleeping, it won’t stop you from sitting inside. You can just…” Jian Fu suddenly stopped mid-sentence, recalling Cen Xiao and Li Rong’s relationship. He scratched his arm awkwardly and said dryly, “Right, it might wake him up, huh? The sound of the door closing is pretty loud.”

Now he really looked like a panda.

Cen Xiao replied bluntly, “Mm, it’s cold outside, and he didn’t put on a coat.”

Jian Fu was tempted to talk to his brother about what it feels like to like men, but the words were stuck in his throat, impossible to say.

He moved his lips, attempting several times, and finally mustered up the courage: “Uh…”

At that moment, Li Rong woke up.

His eyes were red, his hair messy, and the side of his face bore impressions from the sweater he had been lying on.

He rolled down the car window, rested his chin on the glass, and leaned out, his half-closed eyes tinged with sleepiness. His voice was thick with nasal congestion as he said, “Cen Xiao, it’s time, isn’t it?”